The Fields of Flowers

My life started in a gargantuan house.

A two-story house with black shutters that seemed like a mansion to three little girls. It was a place to explore and dream big. The fields were endlessly filled with Black-Eyed Susans, Daisies, and certain times of year smelled of fresh hay. On the front lawn of the house were two Lilac bushes, one white and one purple, they seemed to grow like an arch. A large tree just across the driveway sported a tire swing, wow was I lucky. The best part of the house was the veranda that seemed to go on forever. I played there, sat on Grampy’s knee there, and watched beautiful thunderstorms. Life was magical.

Myself, along with my sisters and whoever happened to come to play that day had full reign of the acres and acres of land. Our parents weren’t concerned as much back then. Life seemed simple and we didn’t have the dangers that we see in today’s world. There was a brook a few fields back that we spent much time at. Catching pollywogs and dipping in on hot days.

The barn was our playground, it seemed like you could get lost in there forever. Board games and TV were basically non-existent. Why would we plunk ourselves in the house when we lived in an amusement park with an attached zoo? We had fields of cows surrounding us, pet rabbits, a dog Sam, and fireflies we caught in jars.

When I think back to those moments in time, I feel warm inside. I remember how safe and secure I felt in the cocoon of my family. This sheltered, small, wonderful life.